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"The Adventures of Lone Wolf Scientific"
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An electronically syndicated series that
follows the exploits of two madcap
mavens of high-technology. Copyright 1991
Michy Peshota. All rights reserved.
May not be distributed without
accompanying WELCOME.LWS and
EPISOD.LWS files.
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EPISODE #13
The "Peace-Keeping Tool" Gets a Humane User-Interface
>>>>S-max implores his officemate to write a new user-
interface for The Last Words Bomb. When the programmer
refuses, expressing his reluctance to use his programming
talent to better an "instrument of death," the computer
builder explains to him the concept of a "peace-keeping
tool."<<<<
By M. Peshota
Andrew.BAS was surprised to see his rambunctious
officemate reasonably well-behaved for an unprecedented
stretch of nearly two weeks. He remained seated in his desk
chair for most of the day like he was supposed to. He
listened to the endless hours worth of Dingready & Derringdo
Aerospace employee motivation tapes that their boss supplied
him with. He even stopped gasping and sputtering
incessantly about the horrific revenge he planned to take
upon their boss, Gus Farwick, for tricking him into rolling
up kite string. The programmer no longer worried that the
restive S-max was about to unleash some retaliatory mischief
that would get them both fired. In fact, it was the
furthest thing from his mind when the latter bustled over to
him one afternoon with a rather intriguing programming
problem.
"Andrew.BAS, I must have your help." The computer
builder sighed in such a way that it almost sounded like a
command. A printout was heaped in his arms and he dropped
it, like a giant, dirty, unravelling spitball, into the lap
of the programmer who was sitting on the floor beneath the
coat tree. "This," he said, pointing to it, "is a problem
only you can solve for it requires intimate knowledge of all
the most half-baked programming languages."
The programmer took a dogeared corner of the coffee-
stained printout and examined it. A brown banana peel fell
from one of the printout's leaves. "This looks like it was
pulled from a garbage can."
"Well, yes, it did inhabit one for a while." The
computer builder snorted in despair. "But I have since
calmed down immeasurably and have had second thoughts about
this ridiculous program's usefulness." He grunted. "I need
you to write a simple user-interface for it, something that
I will be able to use. At the moment, my vocabulary of
expletives is not large enough to permit me to spend more
than ten minutes--maybe fifteen tops with this aggravating
muddle."
"What is it?"
"It is software."
"Software for what?"
"A guided missile."
Andrew.BAS looked up in alarm. "Smart bomb software,
huh?" His face grew grave. "I don't know if I care to use
my programming talents to further the aims of over-financed
militarists who resolve their problems through mass
destruction."
"No, no, Andrew.BAS, you've got the concept and the
terminology all wrong!" S-max wagged a finger at him. "The
missile that this foolish software purportedly controls is
not a weapon."
"No?"
"It is a <>.
"Hmm..."
"That's right. A peace-keeping tool. Before the
missile explodes it writes a message in the sky--"
"A message in the sky? Really?
"Yes, it writes a communique in the clouds with various
colors of smoke that are all VGA compatible and can all be
software controlled."
"Well, that's pretty neat."
"Yes, it <> neat." The computer builder rolled his
eyes at how easy it was to impress child-hearted programmers
such as his officemate. "It writes messages like 'Please
lay down your arms, dear friends, and we will lay down ours
too,' or 'We are all one happy people, sharing alike in
life's bounty and joy, so let us not fight anymore. Come
over to our place tonight and watch "Star Trek" reruns with
us. We will provide the microwave popcorn.'" He grunted.
Andrew.BAS's eyes shifted disbelievingly. "And it
doesn't write messages like 'Die, Die Fascist Sheep-Sucking
Worm'?"
"No, of course not. Only polite, peaceable messages."
"Hmm..."
"It's a fact! If the people on the ground attentively
read and follow the instructions that the missile prints in
the sky prior to detonation, they will save their population
from further holocaust. That's why it's called a peace-
keeping tool."
"But the bomb will still explode, right?"
"Well, yes, the bomb will still explode."
"Then it's an instrument of death."
"No, no, it's a peace-keeping tool, you fool!" S-max
seized the programmer by the waifish shoulders and shook
him. "Haven't you been listening to me? <> Now listen: if the doomed and helpless populace on
the ground follow the advice written high in the sky by the
bomb, they can be assured that hundreds of thousands of
other bigger bombs won't follow. Can you understand that?
Are you aware of the difference between acceptable levels of
human casualties and total nuclear annihiliation? Or did
they forget to teach you that important concept in software
school?!"
Andrew.BAS shuddered. "Peace-keeping tool, huh?" He
glanced in revulsion at the printout. He would have
continued the debate over peace-keeping tool versus
instrument of death, but his eyes caught on several
interesting passages of code. He unravelled several leaves
of the printout. "This looks like it's written in INDO-
GOSUB," he said in amazement. "It's been years since I've
seen anything in INDO-GOSUB."
"Yes, there is a lot of INDO-GOSUB in those troubled
lines. There is also profuse use of a programming language
that seems to be called VAX USERS DO IT BETTER. It is
scribbled all over the margins." The computer builder
grunted. "Although I'm not much of an authority on the rude
art of programming (someone of my intellect doesn't need to
be), it seems to me that this is something in which you
could use a lot of vectors."
"Vectors!?" the programmer started. He had a weakness
for vectors. He unwound more of the spitball-like printout.
"I bet it would be a lot of fun writing a user interface for
software like this," he mused with a smile.
"Yes, it <> be fun!" his officemate hurried to
add, rolling his eyes once more at the simple pleasures of
easily beguiled programmers. "And think of it, everytime a
helpless agrarian village was not completely decimated
because of this bomb, you would be one of the faceless
technocrats most responsible."
But Andrew.BAS wasn't listening. He was already
formulating a plan for how he would make this snarl of
computer code, riddled with bewitching ancient tongues like
INDO-GOSUB and requiring profligate use of vectors, easy for
people to use. "I'll give it a prompt that says 'CRUISE:'
like in a banner program, you know..." he said to himself,
as his bossy officemate seized him by the wrist. He dragged
him to his feet, jerked him and the printout over to his
desk and sat them down behind it. "...and maybe a scorebox
which will tabulate the number of direct hits--ouch!" The
programmer bolted to his feet.
"No need for panic. You only sat on rusty nails." The
computer builder grasped the back of the aircraft cockpit
seat covered with fake zebra fur that served as his computer
chair and shook it vigorously like an apple tree. Half a
hardware store clattered to their feet. He returned the
chair to the floor and pressed the programmer back into it.
Sitting at the computer builder's ramshackle desk, in front
of a lopsided, flame-singed computer terminal, the
programmer looked like a blue-eyed child about to be
sacrificed to a Rube Goldberg device. "Can we lose the
fuzzy dice?" he said, nodding toward the fur cubes dangling
at the top of the screen.
"Good as gone." S-max jerked them from beneath the
"Honk If You Want Complete Schematics" bumper sticker.
"And the moose horns?" He pointed toward the antlers
that sprouted from the top of the terminal.
"That's where I draw the line."
As the programmer fastidiously retooled the smart
bomb's software over the next three days, the computer
builder hovered over his shoulder watching, like an
impatient Wookie. He brought him his meals, he brought him
cans of soda, he brought him a change of clothes so that he
wouldn't have to stop programming and go home at night. At
least once an hour, he inquired, with a politess so gawky it
sounded as if the computer builder had never been polite
before, when Andrew.BAS would be finished giving the
software a new user-interface.
Finally, one day, the programmer stood up, pointed to
the screen, and said, "Do you see that prompt?" The prompt
he was referring to was a flashing arrow. It was preceeded
by the world 'CRUISE:'
S-max hurried over and squinted at it.
"It's a prompt just like the kind you find in software
for printing banners. I assume you are familiar with how
banner programs present you with a prompt that reads
'BANNER:' and after it you type what you want the banner to
read."
The computer builder nodded.
"Well, this works the same way. The guided missile
software prompts you with the word 'CRUISE:'--as in cruise
missile. After it, you type what you want the missile to
write in the sky."
"That's all there is to it?"
"Yes, that's all."
S-max pounced on the keys, his knuckles spread like
attacking claws. "So if I type 'Prepare for Total and
Unmitigated Nuclear Annihilation, You Bloody Cur!'--" He
began typing slowly, with two fingers. "--the missile will
blaze that across the sky?"
"Well...theoretically, yes."
"And if I type in 'You Are Nothing But a Bunch of
Motherless Warthogs, Waiting to Become a Feast of
Vultures,'--" The computer builder began tapping in
'warthogs.' "--the missile will write that in the sky too?"
"Umm...yes, theoretically."
"And if I key in 'Gus Farwick is Nothing But a
Testosterone-less Simp with Eel Toes for Brains' the bomb
will blaze that truth in the clouds?"
"Hmm..." Andrew.BAS was afraid something like this
would happen. "Theoretically," he said. "The software is
equipped to write things for many occasions."
"You are a genius, Andrew.BAS!" S-max clasped him by
the shoulders. "This software is so simple even I can use
it! Look!" He returned his apeish knuckles to the
keyboard. "I can type 'Gus Farwick Has a Mind of Shredded
Tires and a Soul of Wet Noodles," and the missile will spell
that in the sky!" He tapped in the first three letters of
'shredded tires' with relish. "I can type 'Gus Farwick is a
Needle-Nosed Ninnyhammer' and those very words will also be
writ in the clouds for all to see. I tell you, Andrew.BAS,
you have transformed the world of peace-keeping tools!"
The programmer frowned.
The computer builder was tapping in the word
'ninnyhammer,' when he suddenly stopped and said, "Wait a
minute. Why can't I finish typing 'ninnyhammer'?" He
pointed bewilderedly to the red flashing computer screen.
"The screen is pulsing and the software is telling me that I
made a 'Language Parser Error.' What does this mean,
Andrew.BAS?"
"I wrote into the software a language parser," the
programmer explained. "It prohibits you from entering any
of 137,542 derogatory words, phrases, and euphemisms--most
of which are taken from your daily vocabulary--"
"You what?!"
"The feature is designed to prevent you--or anyone
else--from programming the bomb to skywrite something in a
time of war that you might later regret having said."
"Can I at least program it to skywrite 'scumball'?" S-
max began keying in the phrase.
"No, I'm afraid you can't."
"How 'bout 'meatball brains'?"
"I'm afraid that's outlawed too."
"How 'bout testosterone-less simp'?"
"Also verbotten."
S-max's typing grew fast and frantic. "Can I enter
them in Polish?"
"No, you can't enter them in any language. I've built
into the software invective glossaries for 728 foreign
languages, including Urdu, to ensure that no one mistakenly
programs the smart bomb to skywrite words they may later
regret having said."
"You mean I won't be able to make the missile spell
'eel toes' in the clouds whenever I need it to?!!" The
computer builder gazed in horror at the red flashing screen
as long rows of error messages scrolled across it.
"I'm afraid not. As I told you, I built the parser
around your daily vocabulary--"
S-max gasped, "You lunatic!" Before the Cub Scoutish
programmer had a chance to finish gathering up his
programming tools, the enraged computer builder seized him
by the shirt collar, jerked him out of the zebra skin-
covered chair, and bustled him back across the office and
deposited him on the dirty floor beneath the coat tree from
whence he came. "And don't move until I tell you to, you
troublemaker!" he blustered. Shuffling back to his desk, a
dark scowl creasing his face, the thwarted missile launcher
grumped, "This is what I get for choosing a brains-in-a-
function-key programmer to collaborate with me on my
greatest hopes, plans, and ambitions." He grunted in
despair.
>>>In the next episode of "The Adventures of Lone Wolf
Scientific," S-max tries to foil the language parser that
his programmer officemate has cleverly crafted into the
smart bomb's software.<<<<